Chapter 29.5: Hawaiian Cruise

Kaua'i, Hawaii. August 2007.

Whenever the weather is on the brink of rain, a lot of us have the senses to tell that a shift is coming. Some people feel an ache in their bones and others breathe in that earthy scent of petrichor.

My poor nose, unfortunately, only caught a persistent and lingering stench of body odor. 

It didn't matter if you were an actor, a production executive, or just one of the many many hands and feet on the ground, everyone and their mother were scurrying hither and dither to prepare for a very special arrival on set. 

And no, it wasn't old Lizzie who jogged out of Buckingham Palace for a morning constitutional. 

The particular monarch the set of Tropic Thunder was tidying up for was the king of Hollywood himself, Tom Cruise. 

Even Cadbury wasn't immune to the charged atmosphere and, as a result, I had to suffer two extra buttons on my jacket tickling and pinching the bottom of my Adam's apple.

If it wasn't for the fact that the shoot required I looked dirty, grungy, and messy I had no doubt in my mind she would have taken a comb through my wavy locks till they were straighter than the steel rod she'd stuck on my spine.

Real choppers were a fair bit louder than the fake ones. And having to listen to two of them in a single morning wasn't doing my hearing any favors. 

There wasn't a need to squint; the sky was still dyed more purple than white due to the early hour. 

Presumably, Jack and RDJ had met and even worked with him before, so neither were all gung-ho about a dawn procession for their famous colleague. 

Donald and I weren't quite so laissez-faire. "God damn dude, he's even wearing aviators. He's climbing out of an aircraft with the sun as his backdrop. Are you sure we aren't filming a top gun sequel or something?"

"No. If we were, we'd be rocking porn-staches and baby oil instead of shirts." Anyone say volleyball? 

Cadbury was quick to flick me on the lobe where I'd have had a piercing appropriate for that scene had I not already had a firm grasp on my sexual orientation. "Behave." 

Ben had already abandoned us and raced off to greet Tom, who himself had begun shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with anyone and everyone in his path. Ben by his side and cruise control in effect - the parade moved along with a touch more expediency. 

Being a literal step ahead, Gambino got first dibs. "I'm Donald Glover." Easy on the handshake Gambino. Pump any harder and he'll have to change his name to Tom Bruise. "I've seen Jerry Maguire like fifty times."

"Nice to meet you, Donald." Donald may have been a few inches taller than Tom, but it couldn't be clearer who was doing the looking up in this scenario. 

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Cruise," my turn to get on the roller coaster. "I'm-"

"Not someone who needs to introduce themselves." He received my hand and clapped his other hand on my shoulder. "I know who you are, Bas Rhys."

My sinuses throbbed, and I felt the soft rush of wind whining in my ears. I wasn't sure whether that was the helicopter's rotors still spinning or the sound of my ego inflating to dangerous levels.

Better to blow that hot wind out now than let it fester and poison my mind later. "I was actually going to introduce myself as your unofficial protégé." Cruise was candidly and predictably one of the handful of ultra successful stars who I was planning on basing my future career trajectory on. No harm in letting him know that. When genuine, flattery was rarely disregarded. 

His head drew back, his chin sunk into his neck, and his face stretched into that distinctive grin of his as he laughed. "Funny guy! I figured that out when I watched you on Conan." The way he thumped me on my arm, I very quickly figured out that those muscles under his overly tight shirt weren't purely for show. "I'm looking forward to watching you do your stunts and seeing if that's true." That affable mask of his slipped a little bit, and he pinned me with an almost frighteningly intense gaze. "We should have a more serious talk sometime." And in less than a moment, he was back to smiling. 

"Who's this young lady?" Tom moved on from me, and if that imperceptible quiver on Cadbury's lips was any indication, she'd moved on from David Suchet. Poor Poirot.

"Tom." Ben tapped him and jerked his head towards the makeup tent. 

"Sorry, folks. My bald head and fat hands are going to take a few hours to put on. I'd better get a move on if I'm going to dance."

I knew Matthew McConaughey was also due to show up this week and while he wasn't exactly small beans, something told me his welcome wagon would be a far cry from the current state of affairs.

To be fair, though, neither True Detective, Magic Mike, Wolf of Wall Street, nor Interstellar would happen for another decade. So we couldn't be blamed that the collective response to him was only going to be alright.

–

One, two, three hops on my left foot, right leg raised. Swap them out, left leg up, hopping one, two, three times on the balls of my feet. I flexed, stretched, and rotated my arms as I warmed up and got limber for my upcoming action scene. 

I wasn't the only one kicking up dust, though. The buffalo Jack Black, adorned in only his tighty-whities, was being hauled on and strapped to was just as busy as I was bobbing its head and hoofing the ground.

As the slapstick spectacle persisted, I felt like I was missing something. My brain wracked inside my mind like the bucking bovine. It was right there on the top of my tongue, like Jack Black's frosted tips. The lighting reflector a production assistant set up finally caused the light bulb to flash in my head. 

Even though Jack Black's belly bulged more than the buffalo's, it was very pregnant and the longer they played heave-ho with her; she was only getting angrier. 

Jack, coming out unscathed the first time, didn't mean he'd do so this time. I stepped in before the credits of our movie required an in memoriam.

"Hold your horses or, er… cow, I guess." No animals had been harmed in the making of this film, but one of the leading cast very nearly was. I ran over, got a good grip around his waist, and forced the issue as the rest of the team had to comply with my sudden entry to let Jack safely off. 

Bend from the knees, Bas. His love handles made it quite easy to guide him back to the jungle floor. "What's the big idea? Do you know how long it takes to get me back on that thing every time?"

"Probably not longer than a potential hospital stay. I don't know why I'm the only one concerned about this whole thing turning into a rodeo." 

One of the animal handlers piped up. "She is being a lot fussier than usual… hey cuz, call the vet over. Maybe she's hurt her back or something."

"Tell them to also bring me a pair of pants." Good idea. I was just about to suggest the same thing. 

The snap of the vet's latex glove signalled the end of her fiddling around the hindquarters of the Buffalo. "Bessie here is super pregnant and about ready to pop. Probably best you don't use her anymore unless you wanna be tossed ten feet in the air." 

Jack, still in his undies - his pants never came - faced me, palmed my face, and proceeded to smush it. Some might have taken affront, but I was just glad I wasn't gonna get kissed. "Your eye of the tiger just saved me from smashing my pumpkins."

"Merely a matter of course. If you died, how would I ever be able to make another movie with you?"

"You're asking for a smooching, buddy."

I swiftly escaped his clutches. "No, thank you. I'm saving these lips for Scarlett Johansson." The cameo final kissing scene for Barnaby had just been finalized. Jennifer Love Hewitt wasn't quite my speed. 

With Jack Black safely out of harm's way, I could now happily and willingly place myself in the careening path instead. 

[RDJ shaded under his conical bamboo hat, pulled Jack along on another sedate Buffalo. 

Multiple cameras were working in sequence for the scene. Donald and I had one each with a closeup on us as we waded through a muddy current. Another one behind us with a wide-angle lens caught us in concert with the action happening in the central scene. 

As the both of us reached the underside of the rickety bamboo bridge where our markers were, my inner clock told me that our timing was the most punctual we'd been across the last eight days.

Donald and I huddled beneath it as the extra crossed the wobbly bridge. The camera behind me panned over my shoulder, I thrust my gun to point at one of the pre-fabricated buildings. "Those burlap sacks don't look like they're carrying tea. That's likely the munition's hut." I whispered as the camera followed the line of my gun with Donald's line of sight. 

"Aight. What about you?"

My Batman moment had arrived. While he was looking away, I slunk back till I pressed up against the wall of the building we were hiding behind. Reached up, curled my finger around the low roof's lip, engaged my core, and pulled myself up in a reverse somersault.

"B?"

"Up here." I kept crouched so that the bad guys with guns couldn't spot me. "I'm going to pop over to the main building to ferret out Speedman." 

The buildings on set had been constructed in such a way that I had an elaborate but obvious pathway to leap, vault, swing, and slide through. I'd have to make sure I didn't take my gymnastics instructor and Oh Dae Su, for the same showing, otherwise they would both get into an altercation about who got to take credit for my acrobatics. 

"Seriously, B, what kind of school did you go to?"

The scene successfully continued till the gag got given away. I flipped off the roof and landed on an inconspicuous crash mat and rolled to take cover behind a set of barrels. Unfortunately, I instead came face to face with a Vietnamese man who'd been dolled up with the most frightening clown makeup imaginable. What was even worse was that his non-existent breasts were still the only pair I'd seen in a coconut bra during my entire stay in Hawaii so far. 

Well-honed taekwondo skills kicked into effect when I dropped low, swept his leg, and leveled my prop rifle filled only with blanks (both in and out of the story) at his nightmare inducing face. 

"I'm a lead farmer, motherfucker!" RDJ's yell was my own cue. 

"I hereby claim this land in the name of Her Royal Majesty, the Queen!"

Truth be told, I was a little disappointed that this was the extent of my martial prowess that I get to display. "Don't judge meeee!" Jack Black hollered as he carried away the miniature drug lord who could have been my ideal tiny opponent. But his wrestling match with Jack Black was too good comically to not include.]

At day's end, once Ben reviewed and re-reviewed the footage before giving his final thumbs up, I rolled up the cuff of my trousers, sat by the bank, and dipped my aching feet into the stream. 

"So it wasn't just PR padding." Tom Cruise, who was still determined to enjoy his oversized, hairy, sausage-y hands, announced himself. "You've got good cardio and a strong skill base. My people will be in touch. You've got a bright future ahead of you." He ghosted away without even bothering to wait for my reply. 

Oh yeah, and speaking of bright futures, Bessie the buffalo gave birth to a brand new calf. They named it Jack.